


The Tapestry Series 2: Warp

by terma_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-01
Updated: 2002-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:27:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26535082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terma_archivist/pseuds/terma_archivist
Summary: Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atTER/MAand was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address onthe TER/MA collection profile.Some of these characters on the X Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. Some of these characters on Sports Night belong to ABC and Aaron Sorkin. You all should know which is which. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this. This story involves sex between two men, aka: slash. If that is not your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it!(simple, ain't it??) Feedback is very much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :) Eighteenth in the Tapestry Series. You might want to read the others first, just so we're all on the same page, here. This has nothing to do with my Sports Night 'City Of Death' series. This one's for Richel, whose fault this is. BIG TIME. And, as usual, for Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason. More to come...
Relationships: Alex Krycek/Fox Mulder
Collections: TER/MA





	1. Practice

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [TER/MA](https://fanlore.org/wiki/TER/MA) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the TER/MA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/terma/profile).  
> Some of these characters on the X Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. Some of these characters on Sports Night belong to ABC and Aaron Sorkin. You all should know which is which. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this. This story involves sex between two men, aka: slash. If that is not your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it!(simple, ain't it??) Feedback is very much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :) Eighteenth in the Tapestry Series. You might want to read the others first, just so we're all on the same page, here. This has nothing to do with my Sports Night 'City Of Death' series. This one's for Richel, whose fault this is. BIG TIME. And, as usual, for Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason. More to come...

  
**Warp - Practice  
by Amirin**

  
Well, now. That could possibly have gone better. But I honestly don't see how. 

I knew it. No, really, I did. I knew Mulder would be like this. 

I _knew_ it. 

He's practically unconscious at the moment. It's a good look for him. He collapsed at my side when I started laughing right after we'd fucked. I couldn't help it. Oh, I wasn't laughing at him. Hell, no. I've got no reason to laugh at him. 

Things just strike me as funny, sometimes. Maybe one of these days I'll tell him about some of them. But not today. 

Damn. 

I've got him. 

I have really _got_ him. 

Shit, look at that grin. Sleepy, hazy, blissful, slightly smug. Hey, I can let him be smug. No skin off my nose. Besides, it's good for him. 

A soft kiss on my shoulder and he's down for the count. Oh, the things I could do to him, right now. Staggering. 

Don't go there, Alex. 

Damn, I need a shower. 

Maybe later, when he's awake. I don't want to disturb him. Not right now. 

It's not too bad, you know. The post-coital lassitude, I mean. Not entirely uncomfortable, this vulnerable, naked feeling. Still, it's not like I don't know where every weapon in the room is, or anything. Christ, I'm not stupid. 

About earlier... You know, I liked the way he looked at me. No pity. Which was good, 'cause I really fucking hate that. Lust was real good. Want was even better. I still can't believe he admitted to it in a public park,though. 

Jesus, Mulder. 

I also liked the way he acted like he hadn't been touched in half of forever, which kind of precluded anything naked and nasty happening between him and Bald Mountain. I just might have to do something nice for Skinner. Especially since I came so close to offing the bastard. 

It was necessary to bring him into it, to watch Fox's back, but that didn't mean I was just going to sit by and let him poach. 

It started at the hockey game. All that fucking sympathy. Yeah, I noticed when Mulder lost it. I was up in the booth, watching the action. What a view. I owe Danny for that, too. 

Danny. Christ, that's a whole 'nother story. One that could be chalked up to vanity, maybe. Or something pathetic like insecurity. Pick one. I really don't give a shit which. 

I was actually on my way out of the arena, when he ran right into me. Literally. Startled both of us, plus the guy behind him who took one look at me and narrowed his eyes like he knew exactly who and what I was. I was about to answer that challenge, when the man in front of me spoke. And I looked at him. 

Leather jacket. Large nose. Dark hair. Nice eyes. Not hazel, but still. Young. Too fucking young. God, I've never been that young. 

And he was apologizing, steadying me, hand on my arm. Kind of funny when his eyes grew a little big the second he realized how hard it was. 

I told him there'd been no harm done and he blurted out something like 'Yeah, I guess there wouldn't be' then turned about six shades of scarlet. I managed to get in a chuckle of sorts before he launched into more apologies and I shrugged off a 'Don't worry about it' of my own. 

The guy behind him clapped a hand on his shoulder and said something about getting back to the booth, eyes never getting much bigger than slits as he glared at me. I couldn't help wondering what the hell I'd ever done to this fuck, anyway, but the one who'd crashed into me stuck out his hand and introduced himself. 

Danny Rydell. 

Fine, we can be civilized. You want civilized, I'll fucking give you civilized. 

Alex Krycek. 

Yeah, now we're buddies, right? 

Shit. 

And then he was asking if I wanted to come with them, up to the booth. I'd 'have to be quiet, they were broadcasting'. And 'could I do quiet'? 

Where do I find these people? 

I shrugged and said I thought I could handle quiet, said it wasn't necessary, really, and paused just long enough for him to insist, right on cue, good boy. 

I admit, part of me accepted the invite just to see the look on the other guy's face. Casey... something or other. Too fucking hilarious. 

I followed Danny, Casey followed me, and I made several deliberate passes over Danny's ass with my eyes, making sure that Casey saw me doing it. Sweet, too fucking sweet. After a while, I quit baiting Casey. Danny's ass was nice in its own right, I've got to tell you. 

The booth was this amazing scene of crowded, controlled chaos, everything and everyone working like sixty, and making no goddamned sense whatsoever to anyone watching who didn't speak the language. 

Kind of like the inside of Mulder's head, I'm willing to bet. 

Danny introduced me to a few of the people there, Jeremy somebody, who was a lot happier about getting this call than the last one, whatever the hell that meant, a few of the guys running the boards and equipment, nice gear, and then Casey got into my space. 

And all I could think was please don't make me hurt you. Danny seems to like you, and he's a decent sort, please don't make me hurt you. 

I'll admit it, I got a little pissed. Opened up the jacket, resituated the gun at my back, propped my foot up on a chair to check the ankle holster, moved one of the knives to an inside pocket and flicked open the switch pick, just to make sure it still worked, of course. Nothing more. Then, I went to the window and asked Danny over my shoulder if I'd be in the way where I was. 

Silence. 

Beautiful, stunned silence. Broken only by Jeremy's faint 'Oookay'. And Casey's not-so-faint 'Who the fuck _is_ this guy?'. And Danny's hand on my shoulder. I turned to face him with a huge smile, one of my personal best, if his reaction was anything to go by. 

And he told me I was fine. 

Thanks for the vote, kid. 

I paid attention to the little light that told people when to observe strict silence and watched the game and the big goodbye and then dug out my own set of binocs and saw Skinner with his hand on Mulder's shoulder, and those big hazel eyes full of tears, and growled quietly to myself. 

Prick. 

God, I wanted Skinner dead. Really dead. Non-resurrectible, go toward the light, taking the dirt-nap dead. 

And decided to settle for making Casey go quietly insane, instead. 

Which was its own reward, let me tell you. 

The guys were packing the gear, and Danny was getting out of his mike and earphone, and I waited til he seemed mostly done, and moved near him, soundlessly even in boots, and asked if I could buy him dinner. To say thank you for a hell of a night. 

Deer in the headlights, I kid you not. 

Shock, not fear. Which was good. Especially since Casey had apparently cornered the market on fear. 

I asked Danny if he liked Russian, he suggested Italian, and we settled on Greek. 

And I steered him out of the room while he tossed a 'See ya later, Case' at the man sitting pole axed behind the anchor desk. 

We headed out of the arena, avoided the crowds by walking down corridors Danny knew about, went through some doors, then popped out onto the street. 

I'd deliberately parked some ways away. I hate being trapped anywhere, regardless, but in a crowd? After a hockey game? Especially Gretzky's last? Please, I'm not insane. These people can be worse than soccer fans. 

Anyway, the night was fair and the walk was pleasant. We were heading past Tiffany's, and I always look, can't help it, and saw the watches in the window. The usual glitz and glamour, flash and ostentation. Ugh. And Danny caught the sneer of total contempt on my face, touched my shoulder, and pointed to the end. Okay, now _that_ was the watch of a man who didn't have a goddamned thing to prove. Subtle. Classy. Expensive. Perfect. 

I grabbed his arm and dragged him inside, laughing, lost him over by the cufflinks and tie tacks, and bought the watch, intending to give it to Mulder, just to mess with his head. And looked over at Danny. And grinned. And bought another. Just in case. If things went badly, I could always keep it myself. Matching watches - how fucking cute was that? 

Anyway, we headed out, I thanked him for seeing it, he grinned, and I led us down the street. 

And then Danny caught sight of the Auburn, which I'd been driving since I'd gotten it out of storage, making sure it was good to go for Mulder. 

It was fun watching all the wheels in his head try to add this to the equation, the closer we got to it. 

All he said was 'Sweet', but the grin on his face said a whole lot more. He navigated to the restaurant, talking quietly but not a lot, which was sincerely appreciated because I really hate chatter. Turns out we're both from Connecticut and he's got to be one of about three people who have actually heard of Riverview. Danny pointed out where to park, we got out, and he patted the hood of the car when he came around to my side. 

I knew I liked him. 

The wait was short, the people knew him, talked with him, and looked curiously at me while I ignored them and pretended to study the matted prints on the walls. 

His hand was on my back, leading me into a quiet corner, letting me take the seat I wanted, no surprise when I took the gunfighter seat, keeping everything and everyone in view. 

I let him order and he didn't disappoint me. Food we could play with, food we could share, food we could get each other hot over just by licking our fingers. 

Mulder would call it normal. 

I'd call it a fucking revelation. 

Two guys, having dinner. 

Sounds simple enough, you'd think, right? 

Wrong. 

It was just a dry run. I had no feelings for Danny, really. It wasn't like it mattered. But if I could fake my way through it, then I could probably bring myself to do it with Fox. 

And I don't mean dinner. 

I'm talking about sex. 

About letting another man see me, really see me, and not having him cringe. Or flinch. Or look at me with sorrow or pity or all those other fucking feelings I hate so much, in his eyes. 

It was practice. And Danny was a nice guy. And if Casey was somewhere grinding his perfectly capped-for-TV teeth over it, well, so much the better. 

So, yes, I caught, and thoroughly enjoyed, the look on Danny's face when I tongued humous off my fingers. And he grinned back at me when I arched a silent eyebrow after feeling the side of his foot stroke my leg. 

Pistachio and-rice pudding, complete with plenty of spoon-licking, finished dinner, but I wouldn't have called it dessert. 

Danny was dessert. 

Danny was also staying in The Plaza. And guess who was staying in the adjoining room next to him? 

Casey. 

Sometimes, it's wonderful to be me. 

I paid for dinner with cash and Danny didn't so much as blink when he saw the roll of money I was still carrying, even after getting the watches. Good boy. 

We headed back to the car, got in, and he leaned over and kissed me. With some care and caution, yes, but no hesitation at all. 

Christ, the man was thorough. I pulled away carefully with a 'hold that thought' and got us back to the hotel. 

He didn't even check his messages. 

I knew I liked him. 

We made it to the room in record time, which was two floors below Mulder's. Convenient. 

I unloaded just about everything potentially lethal onto the dresser,caught his look of bemusement, and grinned. He grinned back and wondered aloud 'Do I even want to ask you what you do for a living?'. I answered 'No' and he seemed content to let it slide. 

Trusting fool. 

Nice guy. 

Shit. 

He got mostly-naked damned quickly, then seemed to freeze, not wanting to help me if I didn't welcome it. I didn't need the help, true enough, but I sure as hell needed the practice. Letting another man undress me without any flinching of my own was pretty fucking necessary. And he was careful, even with the arm. His eyes only got a little wide when it came off and he looked at me with those eyebrows which seemed to form natural question marks all by themselves. 

He grinned when I winked, reassured, and asked the question with his eyes when he saw the scarring. I said nothing. He was smart enough not to push it. Good boy. 

And the look on his face... not pity. Not grief. Anger. Seriously. It surprised the hell out of me. I had to look twice to make sure it wasn't revulsion. He looked at me and sighed. And shrugged. And spoke. And floored me. 

Not 'I'm sorry'. 

Not 'What a shame'. 

No, not Danny. 

You know what he said? 

'I know people'. 

And I thought, Jesus H. Christ, kid, so do I. Believe me, you _don't_ want to meet them. 

'In medicine' he said, perfectly serious. And explained. 

Not your normal, shady-government-hybridizing-cloning-mad-scientist's-laboratory type medicine, either, oh, no, not Danny. Sports Medicine. Experimental stuff. State-of-the-fucking-art medicine. 

The kind of medicine that lets track stars with limbs lost to accidents,run marathons again. Archers with no more than three fingers, total, set records. Swimmers with only one natural arm, break new times. There's a whole fucking Olympic community for people like me, and he _knew_ them. And their doctors. 

I silently swore to myself that I would _never_ hurt Casey, no matter how tempting. That was really the best I could offer in return. 

He got a piece of hotel stationary, wrote down some names. And places. And just nodded when I said I had my own doctor, told me to have him check these people out. Folded it up and stuck it in my pocket. Right before he finished stripping me naked and tackling me to the bed. 

He was all over me, everything, everywhere, god. So fucking hard and hot and perfect and all _over_ me. And part of me wanted to keep him. Really. I mean, he was a public figure, a nationally televised sports anchor for the love of Christ, and I wanted to keep him. And thought that if it were half as good with Mulder as it was gearing up to be with Danny, I was in deep shit. 

The kid was joyful, ecstatic, enthusiastic, didn't wait for me to respond, or protest, didn't wait to see if anything wasn't good or right, just swept over me like a horned-out puppy dog and brought me screaming into the pillow in no time. And laughed. Not _at_ me, either. In delight. Sheer, unadulterated delight. Then, he just kicked back, relaxed, and let me ravish him. Instant surrender, no fight, no contest of will or strength,just encouragement, more laughter, some loud, gleeful howls, and his hands fucking _everywhere_. Then he pulled away, looked at me thoughtfully, and grinned. 

'Hey, Alex? Tonight, you don't have one hand. You've got three, put 'em wherever the hell you want 'em.' 

Okay, so it was as close to crying as I've come in the last couple of decades. 

And I took him up on it. It was almost like using him to masturbate, but yet... not. Things I hadn't been able to do to, with, or for myself in fucking _years_ and he just let me... do them. Use him. Gladly. 

Shit. 

I made some mildly sarcastic comment about how well he took direction and he just burst into laughter and said something along the lines of 'Well, duh. I work in television, you asshole'. 

He let me use his hands as my own until we brought me to orgasm again, then pounced. Only fair. After all, it was his turn. 

I really could've gotten used to it. You know? 

And so it went, until some obscene hour of the very early morning and I had to leave him. Not that I wanted to, but I had to. 

I left behind the watch and a note, which simply said thank you. And that he was a class act, which he sure as hell was. And I got my stuff together quietly and left him, sleeping, sated, and snoring. 

I paused out in the hallway. Stepped up and knocked on Casey's door. It opened far too quickly for the person on the other side to have been asleep and suddenly, there he was. Angry. Scared. Hurt. Worried. 

The worried got to me. 

I told him that Danny was fine. Was more than fine. Danny was fucking incredible, all right? And that he'd better take damned good care of him. 

He just nodded and said, very softly, that he would. I told him that Danny was his. _All_ his. And then I left to the sound of a door closing quietly. And headed up to Mulder's suite. 

I had to brace myself before going into the room I knew had to be Skinner's. Mulder never snored like a fucking buzz saw. But god help Skinner if Mulder was in that bed with him. 

Luckily for Skinner, he wasn't. 

I went into Fox's room. Unconscious, passed-out, almost-fully-clothed, drunk. I straightened things up, left what I needed to, tucked him in a little better, and fought an ugly battle with myself to keep from touching him anymore than necessary. Let alone staying there with him. Then, I took off. 

I can look at Fox, now, here, with me, and I'm grateful. To Danny. I don't know if this would've happened without him. And I'm damned glad it worked out. I wasn't at all sure it would, not with my track record. And maybe, sometime, if I get a quiet moment, I'll ask Chae to check out Danny's list of names and places. And get myself an arm that looks like it was put together in the last decade. 

Maybe. 

If. 

Sometime. 

You know, for a guy who used to measure his future in days, I find I'm suddenly optimistic. 

* * *

Some of these characters on the X Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. Some of these characters on Sports Night belong to ABC and Aaron Sorkin. You all should know which is which.   
No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this.   
This story involves sex between two men, aka: slash. If that is _not_ your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it!(simple, ain't it??)   
Feedback is _very_ much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :)   
Eighteenth in the Tapestry Series. You might want to read the others first, just so we're all on the same page, here. Previous stories can be found at: [ http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html](http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html)   
This has nothing to do with my Sports Night 'City Of Death' series. But,if you're interested, you can find it here:  
[ http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin5.html](http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin5.html)   
This one's for Richel, whose fault this is. BIG TIME. And, as usual, for Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason.   
More to come...   
Warp - Practice by Amirin [email removed] #150   
---


	2. Questions

  
**Warp - Questions  
by Amirin**

  
I was just laying there, playing with the hairs on the arm wrapped around me. Feeling his breath warm the back of my neck. Content enough. Idly thinking about Danny, a little. And Fox, a lot. 

Wondering what his reaction would be, when I got around to telling him what I needed his help for. I thought I had the bases covered, but he has managed to surprise me, before. He could easily slip in something I hadn't even considered. 

If anyone could do it, he could. 

Anyway, I guess I wasn't really thinking. I was planning. Distracted. That's my only excuse. The only conceivable reason for answering his softly murmured, "Can I ask you something?" with a "Sure, anything." 

I wasn't thinking. 

I didn't even have time to prepare myself when his next question came. 

"Why did you kill my father?" 

Not 'did you'. ' _Why_ did you'. 

It stunned me, yes. He simply assumed I had. And was still naked at my side. Never mind that Bill Mulder _wasn't_ his father; Fox didn't know that. He went into this thinking I had capped his old man and fucked me, anyway. 

Jesus. 

'Why did you kill my father'? 

Why do I get the feeling that 'Because I was taking my orders from the wrong man at the time' just wouldn't be enough to satisfy him? 

Okay, then... 

How much do I tell him? Assuming I don't tell him everything, how do I explain it all later? What reasons can I come up with, for my silence? For the lies? And how much will he understand? Or be able to forgive? 

Obviously, I can't tell him everything. Not yet. It's too soon. Maybe... after. When the smoke has cleared, the dust has settled. After the bodies are counted and buried for good. Maybe then I can tell him. But for now... 

Mulder just lay there, arm still around me, silent, patient, like he was asking me to give him a reason, _any_ reason, to make fucking me a bit more palatable for him. And I wanted so badly to get pissed at him, but I couldn't. Because I understood. And because I still needed his help. And to get his help, I had to have his trust. And to get his trust, I had to tell him the truth about this. 

Or, at the very least, part of one. A part we'd both be able to live with. 

Deep breath. Let's start with his question. Simple enough. 

Yeah, right. 

"I had no choice." 

He quietly thought it over, wheels spinning, cogs grinding, theories and ideas clicking into place. 

"Was it a choice of you or him?" 

Actually, mercifully, it wasn't. That might have been a little harder. 

"No. It was _you_ or him." 

A small lie. They would never have killed Mulder. Destruction, however,was something else entirely. 

And as for Fox... 

Stillness. Absorption. Then a slow nod out of the corner of my eye. That, he can believe. Now. After... everything. He'd never have bought it a couple of weeks ago. He would never have believed that it would have made any difference to me, whatsoever. Now, he's willing to consider the possibility that it made all the difference in the world. And if that didn't please me so damned much, I'd be feeling pretty fucking smug about it. 

"Was he my father, Alex?" 

Shit, shit, shit. 

Come on, Alex. Simple yes or no, that's all that's required. 

Sure it is. 

"No. Biologically speaking, no." 

True enough. None of that cold man's genetic material is present in the wonderfully warm being next to me. 

I, myself, am not so fortunate. Which probably explains more about me than I'd like to admit. 

"Who is?" 

He refuses to ask the easy questions. Isn't that a surprise? 

"Not the man you're thinking of." 

His relief was palpable and he moved closer to me, of all things, as I sighed, leaned back into him, and rested my head on his shoulder as he shifted slightly above me. 

No, the nicotine-poisoned walking corpse is not your father, Fox. He'd have been dead a long time ago, if he were. I'd have taken care of it personally. And with no small amount of pleasure. 

"Do you know who is?" 

"I only know of his existence. Much the same way I know of Samantha's." 

He looked at me, realized I was only making a point, not a strike. And, more importantly, that I really didn't know all that much about either of them. Which was the truth. 

"Did you help them take Scully?" 

Fuck. 

"No." 

He sighed with something like relief and took my hand in one of his. 

Oh, no, Fox. Don't get too relaxed, yet. It's not that simple. Nothing ever is. 

"I just made sure they didn't get you, too." 

He stopped moving, briefly. Frozen. Finally, a slow thaw. Very slow.But a thaw, nonetheless. 

When did he become so forgiving? I wondered. 

And then I remembered something. 

That's how all this started. In the warehouse. Kersh. Too late for Scully, this time _not_ on purpose. And making damned sure Mulder was alright and out of the way. Again. 

Well, now. I hadn't realized I'd established a pattern. 

Time to toss him something else to chew on. 

"I brought her back, once I'd figured out where she was." 

"And no one saw you. How'd you manage that?" 

It wasn't doubt I heard in his voice. Or disbelief. Something harder,colder than idle curiosity, though. 

"I can all but disappear in a hospital, Fox. You wouldn't believe how often I frequent them." 

"What, you go in as a doctor?" 

"No. Someone practically invisible, to city-dwellers. Someone their eyes are used to sliding right past, without really seeing. It's extremely effective." 

Doesn't say much for humanity, though, does it? Of course, humanity wouldn't say much for me, either. 

I find myself wondering if Fox knew how many times _he'd_ walked right past me on a street corner, a subway platform, in a bus terminal, a parking garage. How many times _his_ eyes had been the ones that slid over me, unseeing. 

I've lost count. 

"No one knew where she'd come from, when she was returned," he said softly, catching my wandering attention again. "Or who'd brought her in. No one could tell me anything." 

"I'm not surprised." 

"That's damned effective." 

"It has its uses." 

Silence, like he was gathering himself for something. Slight tension curling through him. I rolled over all the way and saw him frowning. And sighed, settled on my back, pressed up against his warmth, and waited. 

"Did you have anything to do with Melissa Scully's death?" 

I should have stayed where I was. 

He saw the truth in my eyes before I even opened my mouth to answer him. 

* * *

These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this.   
This story involves sex between two men, aka: slash. If that is _not_ your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! (simple, ain't it??)   
Feedback is _very_ much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :)   
Nineteenth in the Tapestry Series. You might want to read the others first,just so we're all on the same page, here. Previous stories can be found at:   
<http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html>   
For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason.   
Just so you know, assume spoilers for everything. And I mean everything.If it sounds familiar, it isn't mine. I don't intend to slavishly follow canon, but some plot strings may dovetail when convenient. Things that seem kind of warped, may not be. Things that make sense probably won't for very long. And nothing is exactly as it appears to be.   
More to come...   
Warp - Questions by Amirin [email removed] #151   
---


	3. Answers

  
**Warp - Answers  
by Amirin**

  
Maybe a simple truth. 

"I was there. Yes." 

Sometimes the simplest answers just aren't, you know? 

He just looked at me, waiting for me to explain this one, as I had the others. So I did. More or less. 

"Did Scully tell you she'd been warned that someone she knew and trusted would try and kill her?" 

"Umm, yeah. She thought it was Skinner. They were having a Mexican stand-off in my living room when I came back from the dead." 

"It wasn't Skinner." 

"Obviously." 

His eyes widened, turned wary and unbelieving, and I cursed, silently, yet fervently, as I felt something tenuous slowly slipping away. 

"Are you saying that _Melissa_ was the one who...? No fucking way!" 

"Yeah," I answered softly and sighed and cursed some more, because he wasn't any closer to believing me. 

"How in the hell is that _possible_?" 

"They drugged her. With something called 'AH'. It's supposed to make someone highly susceptible to suggestion. Mind control." 

"Yeah. Anionic histamine. Scully told me about it," he said, haltingly."She got shot up with it in Vegas. And Langley. They used it on him to program him to kill... someone." 

His eyes met mine and I nodded and then, suddenly, he looked pissed again. 

"Alex, _fuck_ , there's an antidote...!" 

"Mulder, there wasn't three fucking years ago, okay? Deprogramming was an option but an option that Cardinale's trigger-finger removed from the realm of possibility." 

"Why? Why did you...?" 

"Scully was necessary, all right? To keep you alive and in the game. She could do what I couldn't, what no one could, because she was one of the few people you could bring yourself to trust. She _had_ to be there. With you." 

That was the warm and fuzzy reason. 

The not-so-warm-and fuzzy reason was that she was a much more immediate liability than Samantha was. And a weakness. A nice, red-headed,exploitable weakness. And you couldn't exploit a dead partner. And they knew that. 

Jesus, did they know that. 

"If you felt like that, then why didn't... When they took her..." 

This was getting fucking absurd. 

"Listen to me." 

I tried to keep my voice just on this side of deadly, still comfortably infirm, but I hadn't entirely succeeded, if the look on his face was anything to go by. Forgot who you were dealing with, there, for a moment, didn't you, Fox? 

"You're right if you're thinking I had choices, that they _gave_ me choices. But you need to understand that my choices, _weren't_. They were an illusion, nothing more." 

I licked my lips and kept going. 

"Kill Bill Mulder or kill you, or kill neither, let someone else kill you _both_ and kill me, too, for blowing off a direct order. No choice, Fox. Not a god damned choice at all." 

He just looked at me, but the gears were turning, I could fucking _hear_ them. 

"Kill Melissa Scully, or let her kill Dana. And they'd have killed Melissa anyway, as soon as she'd done what she'd been programmed to do. Again, no choice." 

Mulder sighed and it sounded raspy, wrong. 

"I know that Old Smokey has told you things, _let_ you find out things, that make me look like your worst enemy." 

"The Morleys in the ashtray." 

"Exactly. Did you really think it was simple carelessness?" 

Mulder dragged a hand over his face and I went on. 

"He couldn't afford to have you trust me, once he figured out what side I was on. And this is no triangle, believe me. There are only two sides." 

"Resist or serve," he muttered. 

I nodded. 

"Exactly. And having you against me put you on _his_ side, by default, right where he wanted, _needed_ you to be. Right where Bill Mulder had been until it was too goddamned late for him to save himself." 

Mulder was doing his best to look at me, but it was hard for him. So hard. 

"Fox, Spender _let_ things slip to me, deliberately, knowing _exactly_ what I'd have to do: horrible things to keep something even worse from happening. He knew damned well what he was doing because he'd set them up, them _and_ me, in the first place, and _knew_ , the bastard _knew_ I'd have no choice..." 

I mean, really, why do you tell an assassin _anything_? Why do you bring a problem to his attention? To get his fucking _sympathy_? 

"What do you want from me?" 

Jesus H. Christ. 

Like I was supposed to tell him _now_? And have him believe me, have him there for me, working with me, helping me commit a damned illegal act which could possibly end in an international incident? Oh, yeah, right... 

"I've had enough. Just tell me," he murmured with a heavy sigh echoed from a heavy heart. "What do you need my help with?" 

"It's a long story," I whispered, staring up at the ceiling, and Fox rolled onto his side so he could maintain eye contact with me. Which actually made me feel more naked than I already was. 

"Bill Mulder." 

"What about him?" 

"God, Fox." 

"Please, just... I need to know." 

"What do you know about a project named 'Emerald'?" 

He got a little unfocused for a minute as he accessed every damned file stored in that incredible memory of his. And came up blank. 

"Nothing," he shook his head with a frown. 

"Lab created, Mulder. And I'm not talking gemstones, here. Something just as valuable, though." 

"What have they got?" 

"A three-year-old child. A little girl." 

"A clone?" 

"No. No, she's not a clone." 

"Lab-created...?" 

"She's Scully's daughter, Fox." 

"Oh, fuck." 

"And m... She's a Mulder." 

Jesus, Alex, watch it. It's too damned soon for _that_ piece of the puzzle. 

"What...?" 

He trailed off, mind going like crazy, thoughts, theories flying across his face, being considered and discarded until he came to one. _The_ one. 

"My fa... Bill Mulder's...?" 

And here I thought his eyes couldn't possibly get any wider. 

"Yeah." 

No, actually, not Bill's. But it's just a small lie, Alex. Just keep telling yourself that. 

"Daughter?" 

"Yeah." 

"Christ," he ground out, falling back to do some of his own staring at the ceiling, and I came up onto my side to keep the connection with him. 

He shook his head and muttered and cursed and thought and cursed some more and looked up at me and glared. 

The son-of-a-bitch _glared_ at me. 

"Did you think I'd say _NO_?" 

Spoken with a grinding snarl. 

Ohh, shit. 

"Did you think I'd refuse to help you, is that it?" 

Damn. 

"Krycek, fuck, where's my gun? _Damn_ you!" 

"No." 

I said it softly enough to get his attention. 

"If you didn't trust me, you wouldn't have believed me in the first place. You'd think it was a trap, or worse. It isn't. I just don't want her to end up like Emily, that's all." 

I saw him instantly remember Scully's other daughter, and the memory of another doomed child pulled a wince across his face. 

"Was _she_ part of this... project?" 

"Similar thing, different name." 

"Jesus, how many of them _are_ there?" 

"I don't know." 

"How did you find her? Where is she?" 

"Nova Scotia." 

"Alex... How?" 

A heavy sigh on my part. I'm good at sound more defeated than I am. 

"I found her when I was looking for information on Samantha." 

"What?" 

"I've got access to resources I didn't have before. I've been... using them." 

"And you found her, how, exactly?" 

"The Mulder code." 

"The what?" 

"Another long story." 

Gee, how did I know that answer wouldn't satisfy him? 

"Tell me." 

"Damned near everyone in this country has a code, made up of several sequences of letters and numbers. Each sequence is like a pedigree, for your parents, grandparents, as far back as they can go. And if you take anyone's code, minus their own unique sequence and their mother's, you get their father's." 

"You used my... his code to try and find something on Samantha." 

"Bingo." 

Actually, no. 

I used the Mulder code, yes. Just not Bill's. 

"What if Sam isn't his child, either?" 

"She isn't. I know that, now." 

"Ohh, shit." 

His eyes shut and he shook his head, probably already knowing the answer to the question I knew he was going to ask. 

"But, I found his daughter," I rushed in, on a wave of half-truths, trying to stave off the inevitable. "His _real_ daughter, and Scully's, using the code." 

Try and hold back the tide, why dontcha, Alex? 

"Who is Sam's father?" 

"Another long story, Fox." 

"Aren't they all?" he asked dryly. 

"You're asking me to explain about fifty years of history in minutes, here." 

"Spender?" 

He sounded so tired. 

"Yeah," I nodded. 

"She really is his daughter." 

"Yeah." 

"Fuck. He was just taking her back, wasn't he?" 

It was close enough to the truth. For now. 

"Basically, yeah." 

He thought and thought and fortunately he was distracted enough that he couldn't get into it any further. 

"Nova Scotia?" 

"Yeah. She was in Mexico. I caught the transfer order for her shipment.The code was part of the order." 

"You really _were_ in Mexico, weren't you?" he grinned. Sort of. 

"I told you I was," I smirked. Sort of. 

"You also told me you'd gotten your leg signed by Zorro, asshole!" 

"The truth is in the details, Mulder." 

He snorted. 

"Sure it is, Livy." 

I've got to admit, I liked his reference to the Ancient Roman historian and my grin told him as much. For Livy, the important truth was _never_ in the details but in the major lesson of an historical event. It's a lesson Fox still needs to learn. 

And one I'll be more than happy to teach him. 

He sighed, stretched, and then grinned wider when my eyes focused like a hawk on a rabbit, watching him move. 

"So, when do we leave for Nova Scotia?" he asked casually and it took a moment to register, to pull my eyes off his body, tear my attention from his eyes and his mouth and... Christ. What the fuck had he asked me? 

Oh, right. 

"Tomorrow." 

He nodded, brain working a mile a minute. 

"Is she okay? She's not sick, is she?" 

"Not yet." 

"They're going to be testing her, aren't they? Because she's part of the hybrid experiments?" he asked in a moment of clarity based on a hunch born from his usual brilliance and cursed when I nodded. 

"Are you going to be all right to go, tomorrow?" 

He looked worried. About me. Shit. 

"Yeah," I murmured, feeling his concern settle around me like a blanket.God, don't let me get used to this. Please. 

"Okay," he frowned, nodding thoughtfully. "Tomorrow." 

* * *

These characters and their environs on the X-Files belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. No infringement is intended. I just want to play with the boys for a while before I let them go back to the lives they don't have on the show. This is just for fun, no money is being made from this.   
This story involves sex between two men, aka: slash. If that is _not_ your cup of tea, sweet as it is, then don't read it! (simple, ain't it??)   
Feedback is _very_ much appreciated, and always answered. Flames will be passed around to friends and chuckled over. :)   
Twentieth in the Tapestry Series. You might want to read the others first,just so we're all on the same page, here. Previous stories can be found at:   
<http://members.tripod.com/~AiR_WSW/Amirin4.html>   
For Sickleweed, who wanted a story with a happy ending for the boys. This will be about as close as I can get. And for Desiree, who wanted a story where Krycek doesn't die. And for Toddie, for every other reason.   
Just so you know, assume spoilers for everything. And I mean everything.If it sounds familiar, it isn't mine. I don't intend to slavishly follow canon, but some plot strings may dovetail when convenient. Things that seem kind of warped, may not be. Things that make sense probably won't for very long. And nothing is exactly as it appears to be.   
More to come...   
Warp - Answers by Amirin [email removed] #152   
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